Gilded Fragments
by TheRedBirdofWarbler
Summary: The wizarding world has had some dark periods in its history. These fragments in time tell stories of love and loss, the rise and fall of an empire and personal tolls of the hopes and dreams for a generation.
1. Entering The Pensieve

Perhaps the irony of such a scene was lost only on those who were most closely involved: the politicians. Only years before, a young Kurt had been shadowing Burt Hummel, his father and the Minister of the British Minisitry of Magic who had been publicly shamed and persecuted due to his public stance over muggleborns that played out like a sordid drama in front of Britian and the entire World. Less than a decade later, blazing through obstacles with sheer force and military strength, the son of the minister had returned triumphantly to the world of politics. Long established political dynasties of the what were now the remnants of the former International Confederation of Wizards could only watch on the sidelines as the new Lord and his Consort, the now Commander and Chief, Wesley Montgomery, lead the way in disassembling and reassembling, in some places from scratch, the constitution that had held together the Empire for over ten-thousand years.

Yet, lying beneath the surface but just as responsible for their astonishing and devastating rise to power are one, if not two, master politicians who knew exactly what was required to maneuver themselves into the positions that they were in now. They had forcible control over the world's governments, but rebuilding from the inside out would take more than just a show of force and power. Facing this new administration was the very real and pressing tasks of reorganizing and reallocating the various factions that still scampered for political, monetary, and military power and control. The fate of the muggles still had to be decided, as did the fate of the Rebels, all in the face of the on-going internal coop lead by one of their trusted advisers Hunter Clarington.

No historian will deny the fact that these two individuals were able to single-handedly change the fate of the entire world. Certainly, events shaped by individual and collective forces had moved and collided in the most favorable way for them. The pro-muggle supporters and others would eventually make their own moves, thus forcing the hand of newly crowned Emperors and sealing the fates of all involved, for better or for worse.

But a reappraisal of these two once in a thousand generation individuals reveals two extraordinarily normal, somewhat mundane yet exceedingly epic, but most importantly, two very human beings. Based on new documents and pensive memories only recently revealed to the public, we also see two expert manipulators who worked tirelessly and meticulously to ensure that only they themselves controlled the serendipital forces working in their favor. But who were the real Hummel-Montgomerys? The answer can only be revealed by examining every facet of the personal, spiritual, political, and despotical sides of Kurt Hummel and Wesley Montgomery.


	2. The First Vial: Everything Changes

**Author's Note**: Well fanfiction. It's been quite a long time since we've been together as an author and host. This has been a based on my dying role play that has had very ambitious plots, but for the most part has only be alluded to and never fully fleshed out and this is just the bits and pieces of story that tell the drama of the rise and fall of a wizarding empire formed by two young mind that manipulated the world. I don't care if you don't enjoy it. This is mostly for my pleasure and enjoyment.

* * *

Dismal grey clouds cover the enchanted ceilings. Perhaps it was echoing the sentiment felt among the remaining muggles and their magical sympathisers, or maybe it was just reflecting the transition to the light hearted past to the dark future. Students were brought into the Great Hall in neat rows of two by two, led by their remaining prefects. Many prefects that had been in on the plot. Many students that remained alive of less then the purest blood were terrified within inches of their lives. Houses quickly dissolved into the great hoards of followers that formed a crowd.

Noah slipped into the rear of the Gryffindor delegation as Wesley thundered from the podium,"These witch and wizard murderers left me orphaned, left me emotionally scared, but they could not scar my integrity! They could not destroy my resolve! The remaining muggles will be hunted down, rooted out wherever they may hide, and brought to justice, dead or alive! All collaborators will suffer the same fate. Those who protect the enemy are the enemy! Now is the time! Now we will strike back! Now we will destroy the destroyers! Death to the enemies of the true rulers of the world!"

The crowd roared.

Rachel didn't even glance at Noah as he found his way beside her. On the opposite side, Sam Evans nodded at him, but said nothing, blinking solemnly. Noah frowned; if even the eternally bright Sam Evans was worried, this looked to be even worse than he'd expected. And he had expected it to be very bad.

He touched Rachel's arm softly. "It's all a bad trip. You know that, don't you?"

She stared frozenly towards the podium. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I don't know what I know. Not anymore. Where have you been? I thought you were dead!"

"I was ... held up." As she once had told him, somethings were better left unsaid.

"He's been at this... this monstrosity for the last ten minuets," she said in a flat, affectless monotone. "Not just the failed assassination attempt I saw. Finn's dead, Noah. Dead!"

"It's a bad trip," He said again.

In the front of the hall where the staff table had previously been, Wesley leaned upon the ornate podium as though he drew strength from the base of it. When the reality of the matter was he was taking swift glances down at enchanted note cards. "This has been the most trying of times, but we have passed the test. The war is over!"

The crowd roared.

"The Great Purge was our final test - it was the last gasp of the forces of darkness! Now we have left that darkness behind us forever, and a new day has begun! It is morning in the Wizarding World!"

The crowd roared.

Rachel starred without blinking. "Here it comes," she said numbly.

Noah shook his head. "Here comes what?"

"You'll see."

"Never again will we be divided! Never again will nation turn against nation, race against race, sibling against sibling! We are one world, indivisible!"

The crowd roared.

"To ensure that we will always stand together, that we will always speak with a single voice and act with a single hand, the world must change. We must evolve. We must grow. We have become an empire in fact; let us become an Empire in name as well! We are the first Wizarding Empire!"

The crowd went wild.

"What is he doing? Why are they-!?" Noah said. "Do they understand what they're cheering for?"

Rachel shook her head.

"We are an Empire," Wesley went on,"that will continue to be ruled by the august body that you have come to know! We are an Empire that will never return to the political maneuvering and corruption that have wounded so many independent governments so deeply; we are an Empire that will be directed by a single sovereign, chosen for life!"

The crowd went wilder.

"We are an Empire ruled by the majority! An Empired ruled by a new Constitution! An Empire of laws, not politicians! An Empire devoted to the preservation of a just society. Of a safe and secure society! Of a society that believes in the education of their youth! We are an Empire that will stand for ten thousand years!"

The roar of the crowd took on a continuous boiling roll like the inside of a permanent thunderstorm.

"We will celebrate the anniversary of this day as Empire Day. For the sake of our children. For our children's children! For the next ten thousand years! Safety! Security! Education! Justice and Peace!"

The crowd went berserk.

"Say it with me! Safety! Security! Education! Justice and Peace! Safety! Security! Education! Justice and Peace!"

The crowd took up the chant, louder and louder until it seemed the whole planet roared along.

Noah couldn't hear Rachel over the din, but he could make out the words on her lips.

So this is how liberty dies, she was saying to herself. With thunderous applause.

"We can't let this happen!" Noah lurched forward on his feet, bumping into a few enthusiastic people in front of him. People who turned to glare at him as they cheered. "We can still stop-"

"No," Her hand seized his arm with astonishing strength, and for the first time since he'd arrived, she looked straight into his eyes. "No, Noah, you can't. Finn has already been shot dead and I heard whispers that Mr. Shue was among the bodies here. You were off that kill list for some by god; don't add your name by what you do today to get on his radar."

"How can you just stand there. I can't just stand by and watch -"

"You're right. You can't just watch. You have to lie to yourself and play pretend."

"What?"

"It's the only way. It's the only hope we have of getting out of here and away from his ever present sight to even have the slightest chance at doing anything good. Be a good little Muggleborn. Mind your manners and keep your head down. And keep doing ... all those things we can't talk about. Promise me, Noah."

"Rachel, what you're talking about - what we're not talking about - I thought it was just you having one of your crazy arse moments. It could take twenty years!"

"Then we'll have to make sure we live that long," she said distantly

"We move forward as one people: the Imperial citizens of the first world empire. We will prevail. Ten thousand years of peace begins today!" finished the newly self-styled leader of the world empire. Giving a confident smile towards the cameras from the various press reporters and the roaring crowd, before he turned his head to look back at his partner completely unaware of the eyes of the spark of the rebels. Kurt gave a reaffirming nod and a smile, knowing that everything they had pushed into place began now. Sebastian just grinned and shook his head in disbelief in the rapture of the crowd. Touching his skin as the silent spell returned his voice to a normal speaking level as he turned curly and began to take leave with his small entourage to the empty chamber off the side of the Great Hall.

* * *

As soon as the last of the group filed into the plush chamber, there was a collective sigh of relief. Wesley had dramatically collapsed on a couch with his full body, while Kurt sat comparatively cramped in the remaining space. His hand resting in the nest of raven locks beside him. It was silent in the chamber.

"You actually followed the cards..." Kurt murmured stroking the head that had scooted on top of his lap.

A soft laugh spilled out as the head tilted upwards. A quiet smile presented itself as he spoke,"You know me. I love to keep you on your feet."

"Magnificent, regardless..."

"Of course I was. You wrote the speech after all. I'm just your pretty mouth piece,"

"It is quite the mouth and I know it loves a good workout."

The simple pleased grin on Kurt's face barely had time to adjust for the brusque motion of Wesley leaning up pressing a kiss on the lips of his beloved. For most of the people in the room, there was an uncomfortable silence as the kissing became more passionate. Sebastian simply smiled as he glanced away from the intimate moment of mouthed 'thank you's and 'I love you's as he looked over at his own love; Blaine could only seem physically unnerved and shaken that this was the grim reality of the world that somehow he had gotten on to the side that he considered morally wrong.


	3. The Second Vial: Heart Shaped Wreckage

**Author's Note**: Still don't care for your opinions. But enjoy the tragedy in my head that never plays in order.

I own nothing by the way. Whatever.

* * *

The room is cavernous and dark, darker than usual. For the first time in what feels like an eternity the grand black doors to this room open and a solitary figure enters. The only source of light comes from the hall. Footsteps echo throughout the room and reverberate across ceilings and walls. Such a disturbance is unwelcome and unseemly. The room has been darkened out of respect for the man who once inhabited this room.

Onwards, deeper and deeper into this room the man treads, his purple robes sweeping across the floor as he reaches is objective.

The man approaches a chair sitting at the end of the black room in front of a large window that has been draped over with black cloth.

The chair itself is covered in a shroud as black as the abyss.

But this isn't an ordinary chair, nor is this an ordinary room. Nor are these ordinary circumstances.

This is the throne of the Dark Lord, and this is his throne room. His office of business in a way.

At least, it was.

The man turns his eyes to the curtain and pulls them down, allowing the light to flood the room once more. It is a dim light, a sickly light that seeks to gain entrance into this, the Dark Lord's sanctum.

The man then walks back to the throne and stares at it, eyeing it almost warily.

With a single, shaking hand the man reaches out, as if fearful that the throne shall leap up and bite him. Finding his courage the man grabs the black shroud and pulls it away, revealing that which it covered.

The throne of his late husband, Wesley Montgomery.

But it is not his throne anymore.

The Dark Lord is dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead?

A month has passed since the Dark Lord's demise, and still the thought of it is practically inconceivable. The end of an era, cut short far too soon. Even now, four weeks after his passing the pain is still fresh in the hearts and minds of many. The man's mind is filled with thoughts, memories and ideas.

It has all gone by so fast. When word had first gotten back to the Capital that their Lord had died, no one could, or indeed would believe it. The Dark Lord dead? It was inconceivable!

It wasn't possible.

He had been around so long. At least it had felt that way.

He seemed to be the only constant in the lives he was involved with day to day. Individual men and women came and went with the passing of time but Wesley had seemed eternal. He was the cornerstone upon which the New Order was built. He was our leader, our father, our savior. But to one person, he was his political equal, father of their children, his beloved husband, and most importantly his best friend.

And now he is gone. What now?

When the reality of the situation finally sank in and the truth became unavoidable, many an imperials asked themselves that question.

Some even sought to join their Lord in death, no longer seeing a point to living in a world where there was no Wesley. It was something even he, himself, considered.

He could never though. Weak fools the lot of them. His Wessers always detested those who went to pieces in a crisis. Even if he knew if it was a personal matter that he would turn into a puddle. If he was still here he would berate them as fools. They still had a duty to the Empire that needed to be carried out whether he was alive or not.

The Empire, what will become of it now?

The Empire was their life's work. But, the Empire was the Wesley's legacy. Yet, he was the beating heart of the Empire. He breathed life into it and gave it purpose and direction.

But now that beating heart is still. Even if his love's heart felt like his own heart had stopped.

The Rebels did this. They took him from them. And now everything that they had built together was coming apart.

Without Wesley's unifying presence the world had begun to secede with impunity. The military is in chaos. No one knows who is in charge. Was is Kurt? Was it their children? Was it to fall to Sebastian? Governors and Generals have been declaring themselves the new lords of their own personal fiefdoms, carving up the Empire that they had sworn to protect.

The Dark Lord died without declaring an official heir, which only made sense if one gave the subject some thought. If the Dark Lord had declared an official successor outside of the immediate family than he would only have signed his own death warrant. Yet his children were still young and fairly naive, despite their parentage and would be all but slaughtered should either of them ascend to the thrown.

It is, after all, what he would have expected. It is, after all, what he would have done had he been in such a position.

Kurt was his closest confidante. They were each other's closest confidante. He could confide in each other almost anything at all, even the deepest and most arcane knowledge. After all, there was no potential harm in telling each other such dark secrets, there was that kind of trust.

One could even argue that Kurt was the only person who ever fully knew him.

Wesley was beholden to all but a few. In his life there seemed only one type of person or object; those who possessed potential usefulness to himself. Anything or anyone else who did not fit into this category was systematically dealt with. Kurt, in many ways, was the exception that surpassed all exceptions. Mostly because the two could of passed for a single person on a bad day.

Kurt had been his husband, his angel of vengeance as it were. He swooped down behind the scenes and dealt with those who needed to be dealt with. Much like a surgeon's scalpel, effortlessly and subtly slicing away those appendages that posed a threat to the body politic. Sebastian was his enforcer. From the days when he was merely a friend to the present as his Lieutenant, putting a bit of stick about in order to keep the troops in line with official Imperial policy. Whenever there was a problem, be it an unruly Governor or a discontented Minister it was his job to streamline the process of governing and ensure that his lord's agenda got through come hell or high water.

Yet even his inner circle seemed to play the role of his guardian angel as well. They always seemed to believe it was their duty, or purpose to protect him from the outside world. Sebastian screened his calls, Quinn and Isabelle deflected all criticism away from his office, Kurt dealt with his rivals, Santana assassinated his enemies, Cooper stamped out sedition, and some even tasted his food for poison.

He valued their loyalty. Good, dependable help is so very often difficult to find. Yet Kurt was the only co-conspirator he ever recognized. In many ways the Empire that he created and maintained was the fruit of the group's labor just as much as it was his. Everyone liked to think that they were partners in a sense, unequal partners to be sure, but partners nonetheless.

The mutual share of a glorious vision of the future; a vision of order and power, a vision of a world indivisible, answerable only to one supreme authority, an authority that knew how to rule and how to keep the rabble in line.

Such a vision he shared with them early on in the quaintness of a shared dorm room when at school. It was an intoxicating vision, and it was then that they knew.

Had any other man spoke to them of such a vision most would have laughed at them then and there.

Overthrow the world's government? Kill a vast majority of the muggles and enslave the rest? Establish an _Empire_? Such ideas would surely be the signs of a delusional mad man! Many men had tried and failed before him.

But Wesley was different. Even now, so many years after that conversation took place I can remember it clear as could see in his eyes a coldness, a ruthless conviction that proclaimed to the universe that nothing could stop him. The same reflected in Kurt after the murder of his mother.

If any mortal creature could accomplish such a task those present were convinced in that moment that Wesley could. Both of them could. The Slytherins of his year joined his cause and pledged their life to his service.

He rewarded them well for their loyalty.

In their time together he achieved power beyond his wildest imaginings. Everything was at his beck and call. Nothing was impossible. Wesley had made it possible. Even still, Wesley made a point of creating extraordinary feats to romance him every single day.

They had much in common. Both had sought to court that woman they called power, with varying degrees of success. Both believed in the power of fear and the effectiveness of the truncheon. Both before us endless realms of opportunity, and decided that they would not be satisfied until they had achieved all that could be achieved.

Clearly both were intelligent men, above and beyond those insignificant vermin that populated the world and polluted it with their ignorance and impurity. Both were cut from a finer cloth. We saw the universe for what it was and we recognized the path that needed to be followed in order to achieve unlimited power.

In the end Kurt knew he was the closet thing to a true love he ever had. He never had much use for such foolish things, and frankly neither did Kurt. But there they were married just like Wesley had said once upon a time.

Above all though Kurt appreciated his truthfulness. What endeared him most to the cause of the Dark Lord was that, frankly put, he never tried to delude himself. Many a dictator has believed that they were creating a revolution to improve the lot of the people and that they were doing that which they did on purely selfless grounds that sought only to benefit all of sentientkind.

Wesley believed this only to a small extent. But this would merely be a trickle down side-effect of what he really wanted.

Wesley wanted power. He yearned for control and coveted order, an order imposed by himself and his husband. He sought to impose his will upon a meaningless creation and reorganize not only the government, but society and the very laws of nature and physics so that they would revolve around him. As a minor byproduct of this he believed that the world would finally know peace. Both of them used the truth selectively by taking things out context and presenting them from a different point of view, misleading those around him into believing anything that he wanted them to. Neither never told a lie. Both simply just omitted that which needed to be with held and manipulate the facts to suit their agenda.

The Dark Lord's first and primary goal was to further his own cause. He was loyal to no one other then his immediate family and held allegiance to no flag or nation. He was out for himself and he had the intellect and the tenacity to get what he wanted. Kurt admired his strength and skill. Kurt admired his glorious vision.

He was the architect who built the Empire from the ground up and reshaped the galaxy in the furnaces of war, molding the stars themselves in his own image. Their own image really. How could anyone not be drawn to such great power?

And now it is all coming apart. The Empire is tearing itself apart, disintegrating as the Rebels and the governors tug at the threads of Imperial strength, causing everything to unravel and disintegrate.

The Empire is dying of sorrow, their oldest child whose father died long before his time and leaving a husband without help to guide it through the troubled times with no direction, no inspiration, no shining light to guide us. Everyone was powerless in the face of such despair.

Without power, one dies.

His internal musings are interrupted by the sharp clacking of jackboots on the floor. The Lieutenant has just entered the room, his face contorted into a contemptuous scowl. It has become unofficial dogma to leave the Emperor's throne room empty with the window covered up and the throne covered in a shroud. Out of mourning for the great man whose loss has affected all. To have entered this room and removed the shroud to the throne is tantamount to heresy. He dispenses with any pleasantries and skips directly to the point.

"Hummel, the Rebels have launched a major offensive in the Southern Outer Rim. Command and control over all military forces in Oversector Outer are on the verge of collapse. If something isn't done to organize the fleet we will lose the whole of the Outer Rim Territories by the end of the year!"

Kurt stare at him for a moment, and then he does the unthinkable.

He lower himself into the throne and take his seat.

"That is Emperor to you, Smythe." He reply icily. It is no secret that they had grown apart over the years.

"Excuse me?!" he asks. His eyes bulge and flame with indignation. His lips curl into a snarl. He still hasn't dealt with the grief of the Dark Lord-his best friend's demise. To see this occur now must be like cold steel to his heart, yet truthfully inevitable. All he can do is give a melancholy and world weary sigh. It has been a long, tiring month.

"Nothing lasts forever. Even the longest, most glittering reign must come to an end someday."

He just stands there, his entire body quivering with rage and, perhaps, is that sorrow I detect?

"Wes' death has shaken us all Sebastian," Kurt use his first name, dropping titles in order to hopefully drive through the point. "But we must move on. The Empire needs a leader to rally behind. Every moment we spend wallowing in despair over the dead is a moment given to our enemies. The Empire is dying Sebastian. We have a vow to him to make sure that his dream, his-our Empire does not die shortly after him. We must do this Seb. It is what he would want. For Wes."

"For Wes." he whispers in response. Concern still was deep in his eyes. "What about you?"

"I have to move on. He would never wish for me to mourn this deeply for him for so long." The precursor to a tear is wiped away. Kurt straighten his robes and lean back in the throne. "Summon the war council and the generals at once, we must prioritize the Empire's defense and prepare for a counteroffensive."

At this point all the lieutenant is capable of is giving a curt nod of the head instead of the customary bow.

"At once, my lord." The last word comes out as if it was caught in his throat. It clearly pained him to have said that. Without a further word he turns around and leaves.

It will be difficult, but we must do that which needs to be done. The Empire is in her darkest hour, and he will not abandon it, for it is a shrine to his oldest friend and his only love's greatness that must be preserved. He would lead their Empire in his absence. He would prepare their children for their eventual transition to power. It is the least he could do for him.

* * *

A new Emperor, a new age, a symbol for potential peace and hope for the future, etc. etc. But he is just a man, a man without the charisma or the know how to lead. He is a creature of shadow like his Master before him, capable of governing and pulling strings in the dark, but he is ill suited for the light. He does not know how to garner the loyalty or the support of the masses. He will not last long. The seeds of his damnation have been sown for many a year and now they are starting to grow at a moment most inopportune. He is surrounded by those who covet the power he has come to possess, and he cannot instill in them the fear that kept them at bay when the Dark Lord held the throne. A system built upon greed, mistrust and violence cannot stand, for it is but a House of Cards, waiting for a gentle breeze to send it all tumbling down. All he could hope was that their children would be stronger and wiser with the best of the both of them. It was the only chance they had at survival.


	4. The Third Vial: Why?

Notes: Thanks everyone who is not reading this fic. It's wonderful to be here and feel your warmth.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not Glee. Not Harry Potter.

* * *

Adam hesitated for a moment, trying to judge Kurt's mood before he approached him with the question that had been on his mind since their earlier conversation. It was useless though. The man was a perpetual block of ice emotionally outside the odd moment. He turned to regard him curiously as he entered the room where she was seated at a desk, reading through a stack of documents. As he met his gaze he wondered why he even cared so much. Maybe it was just being stuck in close quarters, a desire to understand him, even if Adam knew they were never getting back together. Might as well make the best of it. Maybe understanding him might prove useful later.

"Yes Adam? You wish to speak with me I presume? Or did you simply come to stare into space, in which case I advise choosing another location." Kurt's voice interrupted his musings abruptly. Clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts a bit he asked the question which had been bothering him.

"Why?" he asked, and Kurt raised an eyebrow at the former Hufflepuff.

"Why what?" he asked in return.

"You loved Wes." Adam said, and he scowled at him.

"I thought we cleared this up already." he said tersely. Realizing he misunderstood the question, Adam quickly amended himself.

"You loved him, even when we were together. When ever I mentioned him, you'd look like you were at another place and hushed up. Why did you ever date me knowing that he would always love you?" he asked. Kurt folded his hands together and rested his chin on them.

"Why do you even care?" he challenged, and Adam sighed and took to pacing as he tried to answer him.

"I don't know.. I just… the question had been bothering me. I can't understand it. I want to." he explained his own confused logic. It was apparently enough as Kurt's expression turned thoughtful as he spoke.

"I was scared. I loved him without question from the start and that was terrifying. He understood me in a way no other could, and so I wished to give him everything, even my heart." he paused and gave a faint smirk before continuing "I know you believe I have no heart. I hear the whispers… and perhaps it's true. Perhaps my heart, the last of my humanity died the day he did. I have never loved another before or since. He was the most constant thing in my world since I was a child, even if our relationship had never been the steadiest. Nothing else could compare. He gave my life purpose and joy and sorrow and love and heartbreak. I miss him so much every single day." Kurt explained. Adam leaned against the wall and slid down it so he was sitting on the floor. He raised an eyebrow at him and waited for him to respond.

"Wow." Adam said, trying to process what he had just heard. Who would have thought the Dark Lord's shadow of all people could express such a degree of love? A bemused smirk fixed itself on Kurt's face.

"Just wow Adam? Or has the nargel got your tongue?" he inquired amused, clearly delighting in his ability to shock him still.

"I guess I'm just surprised how deeply you loved." Adam admitted "You aren't exactly the warm fuzzy type." he said and he barked a laugh.

"No, I suppose I'm not." he admitted. "Is your question answered?" Kurt asked and Adam gave a nod as he stood, understanding the moment had passed and he wished to be alone with his memories.

"It is. Thank you for your time, my lord." he said turning to leave. As the door slid shut behind him Kurt leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes remembering happier times, and the man he would have given anything for.


	5. The Fourth Vile: Almost Is Never Enough

Notes: Well thank you to that one person who favorited the story. The rest of you... well. Warmth. I feel it.

Disclaimer: What do I own? NOTHING. Not Glee. Not Harry Potter. Nada.

* * *

It had been a year and a half since Kurt had stepped foot in Paris and it still felt too soon. The house staff stand shocked at their remaining lord returning back to the manor that his love once kicked and screamed about moving to before the birth of their twins and eventually came to love.

The manor still looked like a day hadn't gone by since Wesley's untimely death. Kurt could only feel his heart break once more, knowing that the world still spun without Wesley just like he always intended.

He occasionally brushed his fingers against the outline of the small heavy bag in his jacket pocket, feeling it tremble like a living thing. For a long moment, he waits alone outside of the lofty carved cedar door, watching the various portraits of his relatives whisper to each other.

With a deep breath Kurt walks into the study and stops, starring at the radiant and mature painted image of his husband like the haunting ghost it was. It had been nearly six years since the man who's image was imprinted eternally on the canvas had stepped in there. He didn't know that he had died. He didn't know that he had been struggling to protect their empire and his legacy. He didn't know that their youngest son had killed himself shortly after his death. Kurt still lived with the guilt that he had the blood of two of his loved ones on his hands.

He's been feeling less and less like himself as the towering clock chimed nine-times. Automatically, he pulls out the pocket watch that Wesley had bought him for their first wedding anniversary out of the cotton bag. His legs seem to work autonomously, carrying him across the floor to the desk.

He is turned away from him, alone with his head in a book and a cup of tea in his hand.

He nearly turns away then, set on running, back towards the Capital a place that was nearly as painful to be as the very home he died in. Back to Azelea, the daughter who was everything terrible about both of them. Back to her twin, the son who was the perfectly balanced blend of them. Back to the realm of political backstabbing that was rift between Sebastian and himself. Back to the place where it all came together. Back to the place where he fell apart.

But he doesn't.

"Hey," he calls. It would be easier to do this with Wesley's back turned, but he wanted to see his face. He needed to face his ghost.

Wesley turns. He is a few years younger then when he had passed, and he nearly steps back when their eyes meet, overwhelmed by the familiar shades of brown. His fingers are clenched around the watch, but his hand is still twitching.

"Hey," Wesley says,"You know in all the time I've been here, you've never visited me once."

He looks unperturbed and slightly amused, even though Kurt's hair looks a tiny bit askew and he is probably shaking visibly. At least Kurt believes he's shaking. _Just do it, _Kurt thinks.

"I've been busy," he responds.

And Wesley simply had to laugh. It was a rich laughter that he had almost all but forgotten what it sounded like. "I suppose I have too. I haven't seen myself around in a while."

Kurt honestly wants to shrivel up and die. How did you tell the portrait of your husband that he died?

It was simple. You didn't. Like a flash of lightning, Kurt bolted out the study and down the hallway to the nearest fireplace to floo home. Home where he finds Adam waiting for him in the doorway offering a cup of Early Grey with milk. He doesn't question him or the appearance of his red eyes or the watch he's clutching so hard that his hand is nearly white, or why he shoves him away with his forearm when he tries to drop his hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck off," he tells him, and searches the halls for their bedroom, where he finally disrobes and tosses the watch onto his nightstand, no longer bothering to hide it away amongst his scarves. He lifts his sheets over head and waits, shivering, for Adam to come after him. He never does.

In a way, he is grateful. He spends the evening sobbing silently into Wesley's old pillow that he charmed to never lose his scent, while an old record player hummed some of the old lullabies of love, and guilt, and resentment that Wesley used to drag Kurt to dance all alone in the privacy of their spacious bedroom.

Kurt sleeps and dreams, but not necessarily at the same time. He suspects his mind is filling his head with what are not-quite-memories, but feel as real.

Kurt dreams of a world where they never planned on ruling over their dystopia, growing older and happier with each other. He dreams of a world where he never met Wesley. He still follows in his father's footsteps of being a politician, but neither of them ascend to the office of Minister of Magic. He reads in the Daily Prophet that a young asian student at Durmstrang was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. He dreams of going back in time and stopping him from ever breaking up with Wesley to date Adam in order to give each other that extra two decades of bliss.

Mostly, Kurt dreams of that day in the study. In this version, he reaches out and clutches the table and tells Wesley that he died. Their youngest son killed himself shortly after and Burt eventually died from a heart attack. He tells him how he can barely make it to the next day without breaking down still.

Adam stands in the doorway of the dark suite watching him.

"Please," Kurt whispers in his sleep. "Please, just give me one last night with him."

Kurt sleeps and dreams, but not necessarily in that order.

In his dreams, he and Wesley live in content bliss with their lives having the happiness they both always wanted, but never truly got at last.


End file.
